A Study of Character
by Luna-Kitsune-Blu
Summary: A collection of Character Studies ranging from character to character, set mainly in Jak II and between it and the third game. Left Unsaid: It still stings, but it’s livable.
1. A Place to Stay the Night

**Title: **A Place to Stay the Night  
**Summary: **Torn think's he's seen Jak's type before. The rebellious, vindictive teens with skeletons they left in their closets when they ran away from home. But Jak just wants a place to stay the night and Torn ends up not knowing the half of it.  
**Point of View: **Torn  
**Rated: **T for Teen or PG13 for language

**EDIT: **Thanks to various reviews, I've decided to continue this little study. Therefore most of my Jak oneshots will be posted under this fic. I hope you find these as interesting as I meant for them to be when I wrote them.

A/n: okay, so recently I've developed a craving for Jak related things. And Torn. I donno why but my appreciation and love for Torn as gone up a hundred percent. Before I couldn't stand him and now suddenly he's one of my favorite characters. Go figure. So yeah, this fic is for him, kinda. A tribute I guess. w/e. Enjoy

.-.-.-.-.-.

Torn watched the young man across from him, his chin resting upon the thumbs of his entwined fingers, with obvious distain and slight curiosity as the boy tore hungrily into the meal that had just been set in front of him.

As well as his wondering of what he was doing here.

He had not called Jak for a mission. He had given no invitation for him and his flea-bitten rodent to return to Headquarters. There was no reason for the pair to be here.

At all.

"Why are you here?" Torn asked pointedly, speaking his mind straightforwardly as ever. The blonde didn't look up from his bowl.

"What, yah sick of us already, rail-road face?" the rat asked through a mouthful of week-old bread that it seemed quite taken with. "Come now, yer gonna hurt our feelings."

The skin where his eyebrows would have been twitched violently. Five minutes after first meeting that blasted animal and he had already known he would never, ever like it. The ex-Krimzon Guard had yet to figure out how it was able to speak, but he was tempted to find whoever taught it and hurt them.

"We don't have anywhere else to go," the boy explained, wiping his mouth. Jak handed him back the now empty bowl.

"That's not my problem," he replied, taking the bowl and setting it beside him after giving it a quick glace. He attempted to make eye contact with the teen, as he did with anyone he spoke with. Jak returned the look, the green-blonde brows pushing his eyes thin into a glare. The boy was challenging him, defying him as usual. He had already pinned the blonde as the normal rebellious youth. Probably ran away from home and decided all of his problems were the Baron's fault. Typical, annoying teenager. Then he saw something change behind blue orbs and Jak retreated his gaze, dropping down to glower at the table.

"You have plenty of beds," continued Jak, the sentence a statement with no hidden plea.

"I do," he agreed.

There was a pregnant pause in which Torn waited for the teen to ask for one of the beds and the teen waited for him to offer one. The rodent, still nibbling at his loaf, waited on the both of them, eyes flitting between him and the animal's partner. When it became apparent to the rat that neither were going to cave soon enough for his liking, it took it upon itself to speak for his partner.

"Just let us hang out for tonight, okay?" the animal asked. It put down the bread and crossed its scrawny arms. "We ain't got anywhere else to go and it's not like we're askin' yah for a kidney or nothin'."

"I'm no baby-sitter," he replied simply. This seemed to upset Jak as the young man shot from his chair and slammed his hands upon the table.

"We're not children," the blonde spat. As full of uncontrolled rage as ever, he observed absently before rising to his feet as well.

"Yes, you are," he said back. Enough anger bled from the teen's face to show his surprise at Torn's reply. "What are you, seventeen? Eighteen?" he continued, sharply. "You're skilled, I'll give you that, but you're still a snot-nosed kid if I've ever seen one. I appreciate your help but when I don't need it I don't want you around." He waved his hand for the boy to leave. "Go back home to your mommy."

"I don't have one, dammit!" Jak yelled, slamming his fist onto the table. "The closest thing I've had in this stupid dimension is that goddamn prison!" The blonde gave the table a shove before spinning around and storming for the door. "Screw this!" the younger elf threw over his shoulder as his mangy friend hopped from the table to follow at his heels.

"Wait a second!" Torn cried, rushing after him. Grabbing onto the teen's broad shoulder, he forced the other elf around to face him. He was met with an angry glare and for a moment he couldn't return it. Truth be told, he was honest to Mar surprised. And he damn well wanted some answers. "What the hell were you doing in the Baron's prison?" he demanded. Jak gave an angry snort as he slapped his hand away.

"What the hell do _you_ care?" he hissed. "I didn't do anything to deserve it. He just threw me in it for the hell of it." The teen bared what was surprisingly resembled a pair of fangs and stepped threateningly closer to the tattooed man, trying to intimidate him. "Do you wanna see what he did to me in there, _Torn_?" Jak asked through his teeth. "It's not pretty."

For a moment Torn simply glared down into the equally intense eye of the teen, watching the blue of his irises become progressively darker and blacker. Absently he noticed the lack of comments from the boy's rat. Then he shifted his weight and crossed his arms.

"So, you're the only survivor of that madman's 'Dark Warrior' Program," he stated. The teen nodded, anger continuing to stay firm. Again, their eyes locked and both pushed at one another, waiting for the other to lose just an inch. Then he, as indifferent as always, turned around and headed back for his table. "You can stay the night," he said. Once at his table, he forced his attention on the maps across it, saying nothing else about the matter.

Across the room, the raw emotion bled from the blonde and into the floor. Jak muttered a quiet, "Thank you," to the ground then crawled into the nearest bunk and promptly fell asleep. His rodent, on the other hand, continued to stare at Torn for the rest of the night, strangely silent.

Keeping good to his unspoken word, Jak and his companion were gone by morning. After that night, they did not return to the Underground unless summoned. Torn never knew if they found lodging elsewhere or if they simply slept upon the streets.

Personally, he told himself he didn't care.


	2. Words

**Title: **Words  
**Summary: **Keira, I love you. I want you, but not like this. So, why can't I say goodbye?  
**Point of View: **Jak  
**Rated: **PG

A/n: Yessh, this was originally posted alone, out of this collection, but after thinking about it, I found it fit with the theme nicely and decided I'd go ahead and re-post it. Tis extremely short anyways XD

.-.-.-.-.-.

There's so much I want to say to you. I want to make you understand the way things are and will have to be between the two of us. I want to show you everything I need you to see.

But I just can't.

Keira, I love you. You know I love you. I've loved you since I was twelve. And I know you love me back. It's more than some childish crush between friends. I want to be with you and stay with you for the rest of my life.

But not like this. Things have changed; you know that--I know that. I'm not who I was. I'm a danger to you. A huge danger. I love you too much to put you through that risk. And I know I frighten you. You don't have to hide it from me. I understand. Really, I do.

I love you, that's why we can't do this to each other anymore.

That's what I _want_ to say.

What comes out of my mouth is, "I need some air."

After I leave the room, I grab at my chopped short hair, fighting back the urge to scream. Why can't I ever say the right thing to you?

Why can't I just tell you goodbye?


	3. Just Talk

**Title: **Just Talk  
**Summary: **A lot of questions need to be asked eventually. It's answering them that can be the hard part.  
**Point of View: **Jak  
**Rated: **PG13 or T for Teen for language

A/n: Finally, a new addition to this collect. Yessh, tis another one from Jak's POV and the theme is also pretty much the same. This is what I get for reading too much anti-JakxKeira. Please read it with an open mind tho and enjoy

.-.-.-.-.-.

"**Jak?**"

The man in question looked up from the table that had occupied his attention for a good number of hours to the communicator sitting across from him. The screen was lit, the image of the face it displayed distorted and inverted from the angle at which he was sitting.

"**Jak…? Could we…talk?**"

The hero continued to stare at the device for a moment longer before reaching over to pick it up somewhat gingerly. The screen was much clearer now, giving him an all too clear view of the tear-stained face on the other end of the connection. There was a pause, during which he was withdrawn and looked past his comm. to bare wall of his room, thinking. When the moment was gone, he hesitantly flicked the switch fixed to the side of the hand-held machine.

"Sure," he replied into it, voice rougher than usual. "C'mon over." The other end of the line remained silent but the image it showed nodded in understanding. Then the screen went dark and, with a sigh, Jak returned it to the table and rose from his chair all together.

His visitor would be arriving in twenty, maybe thirty minutes. A quick, cold shower was taken and the youth changed his clothes. Then he set to making some coffee. A knock came from the door across the small room a few minutes after the beverage had finished brewing. Thinking of the perfect timing almost sourly, he rose from the seat he had once again filled in waiting. Upon opening the door he was met by the same red-eyed face that had adorned the tech currently on the table-top.

"Come in," he instructed quietly, moving aside for the guest to do just that. "Make yourself at home."

"I've never..." Keira trailed off as she entered, looking around her. A small, half smile crossed her face and she shook her head, deciding it would be better to start over completely. "Nice place," she said finally, turning around to face her host. The other elf shrugged, giving the door a push back into its frame.

"It's a crap heap and you know it," he muttered, moving past her. One room with a only a bed, a stove and sink, a counter, outlet and table with miss-matched chairs didn't exactly say 'Nice Place' to him. Her shop was larger than this. So was the old HQ.

He decided he didn't want to think about it. Fishing a mug out from a crate of dishware sitting on the floor by the sink--a house warming present from the Dax himself; all items of which used to belong to the former Hip Hog--he set out to pouring the young woman a complementary cup of Joe. When finished, Jak turned around to find the mechanic had wandered over to his cot. One of her slender fingers traced the frayed hem of the blanket upon it.

"Here," he said, presenting her with the cup. Once she had taken it, a hesitant and careful motion--wouldn't want to touch that skin of his now--the young man turned and sat at the table, waiting for her to join him. She did soon enough, sitting across from him, eyes enveloped in the darkness inside her mug.

"None for you?" Keira asked, coffee being raised slightly to show she meant the drink. He shook his head.

"Never liked the taste."

His childhood friend let out another half-hearted chuckle at his answer. "Of course not. You've always had such a sweet tooth." Again, the elf shrugged, not knowing if he could quite agree with her on that or not. Jak hadn't had anything sweet in a long time.

Silence, awkward and heavy, filled the next couple minutes. Jak looked past the girl, a little over her head, avoiding her eyes. It was a habit he had picked up after being reintroduced to the mechanic after the rift. She never seemed to notice, or perhaps she didn't care, as long as she didn't have to return any more of his gazes than absolutely necessary.

"How…how's your eye?" the woman finally asked after a long sip from the mug.

"It wont be black for much longer," he replied without missing a beat. "I've had worse." Keira nodded, a sad glint in the eyes that still refused to even shift in his general direction. No wait, there they went, followed by the usual hard swallow. How many times had he wondered if it was vomit she was choking back down?

"I'm sorry," Keira whispered.

"It's not that big of a deal," he said, dismissing her guilt with a brief wave of his hand. "It was a wild night. Don't worry about it." It was strange how even he could force his voice to be. He surely didn't feel that unfazed on the inside. His eyes shifted quickly to the door leading to the joint bathroom he shared with the next apartment over. "That's all you came here to say, right? We done?"

"Yes--wait, no," Keira stuttered. A look of surprise slipped onto the blonde's face at her reply, but it didn't last long. He quickly covered it back up with the emotionless mask he had adorned since before her arrival. Still, the hero found it hard to believe the mechanic would actually want to stay longer than what was expected of her. "Can't we just…I don't know, just talk about things?" she continued, apparently having missed his slip-up. "You know, like we used to."

Jak shifted his weight onto his elbows, leaning forward slightly in his chair. "Like what things?" he pushed.

"I don't know," the young woman admitted. "Anything. How have you been?"

"Bored," Jak admitted easily.

"And?" Looks like she was going to push back.

Jak let out a small sigh. "It's been long time since I've just had…down time. Time to…"

A slender eyebrow rose slightly. "To…?"

"To think," he finished, albeit reluctantly. "To do nothing if I wanted to."

"See? That wasn't all that hard." Keira broke a small, amused smile, one the hero found hard to believe in with her eyes still tracing lines in the woodwork. "It's so nice talking to you again, you know that?"

"We've never really _talked_ before," Jak replied bitterly.

"Don't be that way," the young woman spat back. Whatever anger she was feeling was quickly suppressed however and the half-smile returned. "It's your turn anyways. Ask me something."

This caused Jak to hesitate. Even with over a year and a half of verbal conversations on an almost daily basis under his belt, he was far from comfortable starting one of his own that didn't have a set objective. It wasn't like he was told to pump Samos' daughter for information.

That, however, did give him an idea.

"Anything?" he asked finally, drumming his knuckles on the tabletop. The woman nodded. "Okay then…" A long pause followed in which the teen searched for the best way to phrase what he wanted to convey. Absently, the thought crossed his mind about how much easier this would be back in the days when a single look could express to the girl what was on his mind. Finally, he settled on a wording and, in a hushed tone, asked, "Why are you afraid of me?"

That caused her to look up.

"Jak, I'm not--"

"Are you sure?" the man asked, leaning forward ever so slightly. "It's not that hard to be."

"I could never be…_afraid_ of you," Keira choked out, trying to make it sound like it was the most absurd thing she'd ever heard. Her face, on the other hand, told him a different story. Did she really believe he couldn't read her? How naïve.

"I'm not stupid, Keira," came the nearly harsh reply. "And I'm not blind." It was obvious from her still blank face that he needed to explain. "You won't look at me, you won't touch me, you wont even be in the same room with me longer than a couple minutes."

"Then what's this right now?" she challenged.

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," he replied plainly, meeting her challenge head on. "You actually asking to come over and staying like this is confusing the hell out of me. It completely goes against this whole 'No Contact' policy you've seemed to have decided for the both of us."

Keira shifted, most likely feeling the walls close in. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Why can't you just admit you're afraid of me?" he snapped.

"Because I'm not!"

"Why did you punch me yesterday?"

The mechanic tried to look appalled he would bring that up. "That has nothing to do with this, and you know it! I was drunk and it…"

Jak's face had become stone. "That's a load of yakkow shit, Keira, and _you know it_. And you _are _afraid of me; I can see that you are right now." He made a point to stare right into her eyes. "All I'm asking is why. And if you don't tell me, I'm going to have to assume."

Again the girl shifted, arms wrapping around herself as if in protection. He watched, silent, as she attempted to make herself smaller in her chair.

He had found her out, alright.

"You're different," she admitted quietly. There was a pause as he waited for her to go on. Letting out a sigh, Keira seemed to realize that she needed to too. "It's…hard adjusting. And it's…yes, it's kind of frightening the difference." Jak nodded, expression frozen but heart dropping as a few of his own fears were finally rationalized. "I'm trying to, though," she continued. "Adjust, I mean." Obviously, she meant her visit tonight. "I…missed you, Jak. I…still miss you."

Again, silence. Keira took small, shallow swallows of air as her fingers dug into her bare arms and eyes bore into her lap. By now Jak had covered his own blue orbs with one of his large, ragged hands. After what seemed like eternity, the hand removed itself and the blonde looked up, gaze piercing into his guest's downcast eyelids.

"I think we're done," the man said coldly. Getting up, he walked past the other side of the table, the kitchen area and his cot over to the door. Without another word he simply opened it. Keira, being a smart woman when she wanted to be, got the hint and, silent herself, rose as well and made to leave. As she passed him at the threshold, he said in a quiet, surprisingly calm voice, "My eye will be fine." This caused the woman to pause, but then she simply nodded and continued out the door.

Jak closed the door behind his guest and returned to the table, ready to spend another night staring at it and thinking. First, however, he shut his communicator off.


	4. Hate

**Title: **Hate  
**Summary: **Even after all his struggling, Praxis had still won in the end. Jak was his.  
**Point of View: **Baron Praxis  
**Rated: **T for Teen or PG-13

A/n: this turned out rather strange and dark for me. It was just a random thought I got in the middle of my shower. It's not as complex as the other chapters (or as well written) and I don't think tis as good as the others before it. But, meh, I guess Praxis needs some lovin' too, even the crap-tastic kind. So yeah, little AU going on here that I usually don't dabble in. Have fun and don't look at me like that.

-.-.-.-.-

Praxis watched the monster rattled in its cage restlessly with a contained amount of amusement. It wanted out. It wanted a kill.

"Good, Jak," he said, knowing it only angered the beast further. It had already relinquished that name, not being able to return to the form the title once held. No, the struggling little brat Errol had presented to him kicking and screaming in his chains, clinging to every ounce of his humanity left to him all those years ago was finally gone.

He was broken. He was _dead_. He had become it and it had become _his_.

The Baron had won, and that made it hate him.

The older man enjoyed the nights he spent, watching his creation stalk around its cell--looking for weaknesses in its defense--looking for weaknesses in _him_. Sometimes it would throw itself at the bars, claws alive with sparks of violet death meant for him and him alone. But the bars always won, hurling it back onto its side.

_I have you, Jak. You're mine, _He would think with a smile.

The beast was always hungry for its next kill--any kill to quell the constant rage it felt. He needed that rage--that drive, so he fueled in any way he could. It hated being contained, so its cage would become smaller and smaller at his request. It hated the Metal Heads he released it to fight, so each one it slaughtered was hung in its cell as a sick trophy, filling the air and choking it with the smell of death. _This is what you did_, the corpses told it. And it hated it.

But what it hated most of all was him.

He came every day to see it, check in on it, study its progress. It never disappointed him. Its strength was astonishing, speed staggering and bloodlust on par to only that which it fought.

And every day he knew he came ever closer to the fateful moment it would kill him.

He wasn't naïve. He knew what those black orbs meant to do to him should the chains that held it _just_ out of reach falter for even a second. If it had its day, it would see him on the ground, the fangs he gave it slicing through his jugular and spilling the lifeblood he was so damn proud all over the ground.

Jak, or what was left of him, would kill Praxis one of these days.

And that, the small, twisted portion of his mind that had no little role in founding the project that had brought them both here in the first place told him, was exactly how he wanted it.


	5. Seeing is Believing

**Title: **Seeing is Believing  
**Summary: **Believe me, this isn't want you want.  
**Point of View: **Jak  
**Rated: **T for Teen or PG-13

A/n: Eventually I WILL add something funny to this collection! I SWEAR IT. The angst will stop! Just...later. Right now? Well, I was told this fic had just the right amount so I didn't chuck it. It was interesting writing in first person again, especially present tense. I haven't written first person present tense in AGES. ANYWAYS, nuff'ah me, go read the fic.

.-.-.-.-.-.

"I want to see."

Brave girl.

Brave, stupid girl.

"No, Keira," I reply, glaring ahead. There's always point in the distance for me to focus on when I need it. It's a little black spot on the other side of the bazaar this time. I pretend it's Errol's fat head. "No, you don't."

"I believe I just said I did," she snaps back. Always had that bite to her, didn't she? Always was smiles and sunshine until she found something she wanted. Then she'd fight for it, tooth and nail.

Precursors, why does everything have to be so complicated when it comes to this woman?

"You don't know what you want," I snap right on back. And she doesn't. If she did, she wouldn't be asking this. Not now. Not of me.

"I know I want you back," she replies, the harshness retreating from her voice. She's changed tactics. Or she's just being honest. Either way, she coils those slim arms of hers around my own, thick, muscled limb, stopping me dead in my tracks. I tense up--it's natural--a reflex nowadays. And she loosens her hold in response. "See," she says, looking up into my clouded eyes currently filled with more than she'd ever want to know. "This is what I'm talking about."

"Seeing…" Dammit, what should I call it? I can't call that side of me _me_--not to her. "Seeing _that_ isn't going to change anything," I finally blurt out, still drifting my vision away from her.

_It'll only make things worse._

"I have a right to see, don't I?" she asks. Yupp, she's changing tactics, alright. Just winding me tighter and tighter around that pretty little finger of hers. And, damn, am I getting claustrophobic. "Daxter's seen it tons of times and so has Tess. Precursor's, Jak! Even Daddy's seen it once!"

"I don't need this," I mutter, just wanting to leave. I just want to get away from her right now, before I get so frustrated I snap whether she wants it or not. But her hand is back, this time digging so hard into my arm it almost hurts.

"How can you expect me to get used to this new you if you wont _show it to me_?" she cries in a desperate, shrill tone I don't believe I've heard before. I let out a rough, short sigh.

"Do you _want_ to hate me?" I ask pointedly, turning to stare right at her. I've caught onto her little game now, or so I think. "Is that it? Do you want a reason to never see me again so you can get out of this guilt-free?" Her confused and hurt expression is almost refreshing.

"Of course not!" Her other hand finds mine and squeezes it despite how ridged it's become in her grip. "That's the complete_ opposite_ of what I'm trying to do!" She looks up at me and for a moment all I can focus on is how her eyes plead with mine. Mar, I've missed those eyes.

I never want to lose them again.

Sucking in a breath, I try to push all the selfish, suspecting, negative, _dark_ thoughts out of my mind--just for a second. She's just trying to mend our relationship, I tell myself. She's asking this of me because she wants to help, not hurt. She wants to be with me. She loves me.

_She'll never look at me the same again_.

"I can't do that," I say, almost in a whisper. "It…you'll…" Even after all this time, I still can't find the words.

"Jak," she says softly, the hand clutching my arm loosening to come up and brush its fingertips across my cheek. It's supposed to be a comforting gesture, but it only sends shivers down my spine. "I love you. Please…let me love all of you."

Love all of me? There's nothing to love about what I become. It's tainted and darker than she could possibly ever imagine and she'll _never_ forgive me for showing it to her.

Brave, stupid, _naive _girl.

I will say no to you. I will.

"Fine," my mouth mutters before mind can stop it. Way to go, Jak. You've officially been appointed the Moron of the Month. Just one more stupid, life ruining decision before you're bumped up to Dumb-ass of the fucking Decade.

Her face almost makes up for it, though. So relieved, so pleased.

So 'I just got my way'.

-.-.-.-.-

It's cold out tonight, but I know I don't feel it. She might, though. Good thing she brought that jacket along.

The stadium is deserted. We're the only ones here. That's why I picked it.

And that's what I keep telling her, but I don't think she's quite listening. She just wants to get this show on the road and go home.

"You wont like it," I mutter for the thirty-millionth time. She rolls those green eyes of hers right on cue before giving me a encouraging push in the shoulder.

"Just do it already," she says, an almost playful tone to her voice. I wonder bitterly how that long that'll last. Of course, I already know the answer; not long at all.

"Step back a ways," I instruct through my teeth. She does as she's told well enough, waiting impatiently for me to begin. I don't want to do this, but I've realized having her see me this way is a hell of a lot better than her catching my rage at its peek. Now I have some control at least. Now the bloodlust is contained. Now…maybe really is the best time.

And I let it all go.

It's no way as painful as it used to be. I've gotten used to it, I guess. My head instinctively retreats behind my hands as everything rearranges itself. Claws, fangs, horns, hair, skin--all on fire, all growing and shifting in only a few seconds. Things I don't realize are there in my normal form, but are so profound now--when I'm this way, crash down all at once and for a moment I forget what I'm doing here. I forget everything but the hate I have for one person and one person alone.

A tiny gasp pulls me out, though, just in the nick of time.

That's right. There's a reason besides survival or lost control that I let myself change tonight.

I force myself to face her, looking past the black film into the saucers she's placed on either side of that button nose. Despite how uncomfortable it feels in this form, I straighten my back, standing like a man--not a monster. And I wait. I wait for her to say something. To move. To scream. To run away.

But she just stares.

"_Well_?" comes a rasp from the back of my throat. I've never tried to talk this way. Scream maybe, but never talk. It doesn't sound pleasant but, then again, I didn't expect it to be. Nothing ever is when I'm like this. Still, the half-word-half-wheeze jars her out of her frozen state and she blinks.

Then she does something I never thought she'd have the courage to do: she takes several steps towards me.

I don't dare move an inch as she approaches. One wrong move could send a stray bolt of Dark Eco careening right in her direction. But soon she's less than a foot away, her eyes still wide, taking everything in. I can't read her at the moment. I can smell her perfume, her skin, her hair…her fear, and her pulse beats rapidly in my ears, but these eyes don't take details very well. All I see are the whites of her eyes…Then, slow and shaky, I see a hand rise from her side and make its unsteady way for my face.

Brave, stupid, naïve,_ suicidal _girl!

"_Don't_," I hiss, taking a step back. Sparks sizzle around me but luckily none veer off to run through her. The hand snaps back instantly as the violet electricity jumps into life. She stumbles back a couple steps herself, holding the hand she was about to sacrifice close to her chest with her other. I let out a ragged sigh before letting the dark bleed away. My vision clears and everything returns to how it's supposed to be…for now.

"It's not…safe touching me when I'm like that," I explain, slightly relieved at hearing my usual voice leave my throat instead of the much scratchier version that had taken its place moments before. She nods mutely in understanding, and I don't need super senses to realize I've really done it this time. I look away. "Are you happy now?" comes the all too harsh question that's been burning a hole through my chest. I hope you are. Dear Precursor's, I hope you are and I never have to be that around you again. Not if I can help it.

She doesn't reply. She scrunches up her face to push back the tears, bites her lip, clings to the hand that _could_ have touched the other me if I had let it, but doesn't reply.

I shake my head sadly.

So much for bravery.


	6. Stupid Mistakes

**Title: **Stupid Mistakes**  
Summary: **He was just sitting there and taking everything she said. And it made her sick.  
**Point of View: **Ashelin  
**Rated: **T for Teen or PG-13

A/n: I really do like this pairing. And I'm so glad to do something not. Centered. Around. Jak. OMIGOD yay. I'm pretty sure you can tell where this is in the game. If not, go play it again. Anyways, this is the first time I've ever really written Ashelin or her interaction with Torn so here's your warning. The end. Go read.

.-.-.-.-.-.

"You're an _idiot_."

Two misty blue eyes, almost too bloodshot to tell their true color, glanced upwards. Then, as if they had never had been pointed her direction in the first place, or for that fact ever before in their lives, back down they went. There was nothing to stare at really. His desk was unusually clean, void of any paperwork, maps, flyers, reports--you name it, it used to be there. Not now, though.

"Did you hear me?" Ashelin asked, taking a few more daring strides towards him to place her hands upon the slab of wood he seemed to adore and her weight upon them. A pair of full red lips curled slightly in disgust. "You. Are. An. _Idi--_"

"Shut up," hissed out his voice. "I do not need to hear that from _you_."

"Too goddamn bad," was her sharp response, "because I'm going to keep saying it! You're an idiot!" She let out a laughed, a sound that held no humor and no remorse. "You know what? That felt pretty damn good. I think I'll say it one more time! You're an _idiot_!" Pushing herself from the table, and it closer to him, she began prancing around his little hideout. "A stupid, dense, imbecilic dumb-_ass_!" Stopping, she turned on her heel and threw her hands back onto the smooth surface of his desk, fingers spread, and smiled an amused-with-oneself smile. "_Mar_, are you a_ moron_."

As she ranted, she kept on an eye on his head as it drifted lower and lower and those pointed shoulders of his rose higher and higher. The two fists that lay on the table began to shake. She sure was making him mad. And, personally? She couldn't be prouder of herself.

"What, you have nothing to say to that?" she asked smugly in mock surprise, leaning slightly closer. "For once the almighty Torn doesn't have a comeback?" And apparently he didn't. He just sat there, trembling with rage, and _took it_. He took everything she threw at him and just let it sink right in. It make her _sick_.

"You know," she said in a cold tone that held none of the fake humor she was conveying a moment before, "I used to look up to you--admire you even. Can you believe that? Every night you'd tell me what was wrong with this world, and I'd just eat it on up." Again she removed her weight from the table, this time in a slow, drawn out manner. "I didn't know then you were merely spoon feeding me canned _yakkowshit_."

"He was going to kill you," was his evened response. More like his excuse.

She scoffed, and loud.

"When has a fallen soldier ever stopped you before?" she cried. "Hell, I bet you've sent Jak to his death just to clean up your mess."

"That's different," his eyes rose a little to meet hers, "and you know it."

"It's not different, Torn!" Her hands slammed back onto the table. This caused him to shoot out of his chair and mimic her motion ten-fold, causing the table to shake under her palms.

"It is to me!" he shouted.

And that hung there for a moment, just floating in the air over their heads, letting it sink in slow.

It seemed to hit him first, the rage slowly seeping from his face and muscles relaxed. He held her gaze for a moment longer before looking away and, after retrieving the chair he had knocked to the floor, sat back down like nothing had just happened.

"I think it's time you left, Ashelin," he told her as he laced his fingers through one another and set his chin upon them. It was the tone he used with his troops, one that assumed you'd do as he said one way or another.

"Did you mean that?" she asked, never one for following orders she didn't give herself. He seemed to think that was funny, giving a loud exhale of breath that she knew was his way of laughing.

"No, Ashelin," he said, rising again, this time much slower--with more purpose. "I didn't mean it." Then he walked past her and towards the door, obviously deciding if she wasn't going to leave, he was. She followed him with those green eyes of hers, turning to watch him as he passed. He must have felt her gaze on him because he stopped, right before the door. It opened anyways, ready for him to pass on his merry way, but he didn't and after a moment of hanging, he looked back at her. "I didn't mean it and I gave up everything I've ever tried to do for nothing."

And with that he left, taking the stairs as slowly as he always had, and she was the one left alone in the Underground. Raking out a long sigh, she let her head drop, palms coming up to knead her temples. Minutes passed and it soon became painfully obvious he wasn't intending on coming back. So, taking his now vacant spot behind the desk, Ashelin placed her head in her hands, still not sure all of this was actually happening.


	7. Mornings

**Title: **Mornings  
**Summary: **Even heroes like to sleep in.  
**Point of View:** Jak/Daxter (it kinda bounces around)  
**Rated: **T for Teen cuza Jak's dirty little mouth

A/n: Finally a funny one! Yay funny one! -is happy- This fic has been floating around my save file for a good while now, but I finally got my butt in gear and finished it last night. Just a little look at what maybe the average morning of everyone's favorites antiheros is like. This is set probably very close to the beginning of Jak 3 or there abouts. Blah blah blah, enjoy

.-.-.-.-.-.

Morning always had a way of sneaking up on them. Nowadays, however, they had the ability to sleep it away once it came, an option they happily took advantage of on many an occasion.

Eventually, though, one did have to get out of bed. It just sort of bugged him that he was always the first to do it.

With a loud groan, Jak forced himself to sit up in his bed. Back pains were there, as always. Damn crap-mattress. Meh, he had grabbed it off the street, anyways. Couldn't really expect much from used furniture in this city.

Really, he blamed that metal bed they had him sleeping on. He hadn't had any type of back problems before then. Goddamn stupid freakin' Bastar-

Pushing his feet over the side of the bed, the blonde stood and stretched. Things popped noisily, just as usual. Then they settled back into place and he heaved a loud sigh before flopping over, letting all of his muscles go loose. His feet took over afterwards and he shuffled away from bed into the bathroom to take care of some…morning business. Eventually he shuffled right back out and made his way for the door leading out of his bedroom.

As he passed his dresser, he gave the second drawer from the bottom, which was currently hanging open, an unceremonious kick. It rattled in place and a muffled cry erupted from deep inside. The blonde was already in the threshold when a poofy orange head poked itself out of the mound of clothes occupying the drawer.

"Do yah always haveta' kick it?" barked Daxter in a sleepy slur as he tried to untangle himself from the pants he had been using as a blanket. His only reply was a incoherent muddle of grunts expressed from his companion as he stormed his way into the kitchen. The Ottsel kicked for a few more moments, still trying to dislodge himself from the deathtrap known not only as his bed but also as Jak's pants drawer, before finally giving up and flopping back down.

He'd just catch a few more moments of shut-eye. Jak wouldn't notice he was gone anyways.

And how right Daxter was, as the blonde was too occupied with sifting through their crap-fridge to notice his shoulder buddy's absence. The milk had gone bad over night, as had most of the veggies. Oh, but looky there, the protein bars and health shakes they had lifted from the HQ back when it still was quite literally underground were still good.

They were, what, a year and a half old by now?

Another series of grunts with a few halfway understandable curses thrown in left the hero's mouth as he grabbed one of the shakes and slammed the door shut unhappily. One of these days he'd pump Ashelin for some of his 'Hero's reward' so they'd be able to get some damn decent food.

One of these days…

Grabbing a box off the top of the fridge with one hand and fishing what he believed to be two clean bowls from the bottom of the sink with the other, Jak turned and dumped the objects as well as the shake he had tucked haphazardly into his arm-pit onto the table in the middle of the room before heading back out of the room.

Now in his bedroom once again, the blonde approached his dresser and, awake enough to care slightly, placed his hands on his hips in a slight huff. He dealt the open drawer he knew to contain a certain rodent another swift kick. Instantaneously, Daxter shot up, blinking owlishly around in a sleepy daze.

"'m up, I'm up," the animal muttered, again attempting to push his makeshift covers off. This time Jak stayed to help, an amused grin crossing his face as he untangled his friend. Daxter, now free of the pants of death, was offered an arm up and scampered onto his usual perch next to Jak's head, a spot he could luckily find in his sleep.

After the successful rescue, the blonde plus shoulder ornament stumbled back into the kitchen/living room/disaster zone. Jak unloaded his friend onto the table and dropped himself into the only chair beside it. The animal proceeded to launch himself at the box Jak had removed from atop the fridge; his favorite brand of Haven cereal.

Daxter grabbed up the box and hoisted it into the air to position the opening over his mouth. "Daxxie likes him some freeze-dried marshmallows."

"Hey, hey," Jak snapped, the first coherent words he'd muttered all morning, as he swatted the fur-ball away. Daxter replied by making a face and a rude gesture, which Jak ignored, before relinquishing the breakfast food. The blonde rolled his eyes and snatched up the box. "Thank you," he muttered, arranging the bowls he had picked out earlier side-by-side. Jak then flipped open the box of cereal and proceeded to lazily pour its contents into the bowls, not caring when the flow of grain-based chunks missed and spilled onto the table.

When both bowls were fairly full, Jak re-closed the box and set it aside in exchange for his crap-shake. Daxter eyed the drink with a queasy look across his face, as if the sight of it brought back bad memories, while his friend untwisted the cap. Then, much to the animal's disgust, the blonde poured the thick liquid atop his cereal. "Why'dja go and do that fer?" Orange Lightning cried in horror.

Jak shrugged before reaching across the table and making it look like he would empty the rest of the foul drink into his friend's breakfast. The animal yelped and picked up his bowl to hold it out of the shake's reach.

"Suit yourself," muttered Jak, now wearing a toothy grin. He then set out to eat his own shaketastic meal only to realize he didn't have a spoon with which to begin. "Shit," came his response to this new information. As Jak jumped from his chair to find a clean or clean enough spoon to use, Daxter stuck his paw into his bowl, scooped up a handful of cereal and stuffed it in his mouth, all the while glaring at his partner's food as if it were the spawn of all evil.

Jak returned victorious a moment later and dug into his food. Dax noted the disgusting splash his spoon made against the mushy health shake. As he watched his friend chew, the animal couldn't help but wonder what had possessed him to make such a horrible concoction. Reading his friend's expression, Jak muttered, "Milk's bad," around a mouthful of shake and flakes.

"That health crap ain't milk," replied the Ottsel before fishing out another handful of marshmallowy goodness.

Jak shrugged. "'t's got milk in it." He spooned another portion of his bowl into his mouth. "Just woulda stayed in there 'till it got bad, anyways."

Dax made another face, imagining what it would take for such a substance to curdle. And what it would look like when it curdled. He let out a groan and picked through the grains to find one of the sweets to take his mind off the mental images. The rodent finally came across a marshmallow and picked it out of the mound of non-marshmallows. It was shaped like the new Krimzon Guard logo. He popped it in his mouth happily.

"'t's not all that bad," muttered Jak after a moment of just chewing. He took a big spoonful and shoved it in his friend's face. "C'mon, try some." Daxter yelped and smacked the spoon away. The mushy glob flew from the utensil and landed on the table with a wet splat. "C'mooon, you know you wanna," Jak reloaded and tried again.

"No way!" Daxter clamped his mouth shut.

"Do it."

"Uh-uh!" The rodent shook his head.

The blonde moved to fit the spoon through his friend's closed lips. "It's good for yah!"

Jak's communicator went off and never before had Daxter been so happy to hear its obnoxious beeping.

"Call!" he cried, pointing frantically at the device lying a few feet away atop a pile of Jak pants. The rat ducked another one of his buddy's spoon attacks. "Jak, itsa call! Answer it, Jak!" Another jab from the glob of death and it became apparent the blonde was having too much fun tormenting his little companion to answer. Desperate, the Ottsel bounded off the table to get it himself. "Whatevah yah want, I love yah," he muttered into the speaker as he held the comm. with both paws.

"**Wonderful**," came a raspy deadpan that could only belong to the new Commander of Freedom HQ. "**I hope you'll forgive me then if I skip the sweet nothings and get right to business**."

Daxter rolled his beady blue eyes. "Anything fer you, Pinstripes," he replied in his best baby-voice. By now Jak had set aside his 'weapon' and had joined Daxter on the floor in a squat.

"**Tell Jak the council needs to see him**," continued Torn. The man in question bared his teeth. Anything to do with the council made his blood boil and anyone near him knew that.

Daxter gave the youth beside him an encouraging pat on the arm and Jak's eyes faded back to their normal deep blue. "Sure thing." Then the rodent flashed his partner a huge grin. "One more thing, though," he said.

"…**what**?"

"Whatcha have for breakfast, Tornie?"

The line was silent for a moment. Across town, Torn was looking at his communicator like it had sprouted a little orange furred mug.

"**Why**?"

"Why?" mimicked the Ottsel, making it sound like the question was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard. "Why? Cuz everyone needs tah start off their day wit a balanced breakfast, Sunshine." Back in their room, Jak gave a grunt like laugh as he dressed.

"…**Rat, it's three thirty in the evening**."

"So?"

Back cross town, Torn drew back his arm as if to chuck the comm. at the wall. Many a Guard in the path of fire quickly dropped to the floor. Lucky for them and the poor communicator, the tattooed soldier changed his mind and brought the device peacefully back to his mouth.

"**I don't eat breakfast**."

Daxter shot Jak, who had just returned to the living room and was currently fastening the straps of his jacket, a self satisfied grin. "Aww, that ain't healthy at all. Don't worry though, Jak'll fix yah up wit a recipe of 'is when we get down there."


	8. No Way

**Title: **No Way  
**Summary: **You know, there's just some things better kept to yourself. This? Would be one of them.  
**POV: **Keira  
**Rating: **PG

A/n: YAY new thing. Its short, though. Horribly so. Sorry. I think its funny, though. That's always good. Getting away from angst is always good. So yeah, here's a little insight on a misconception I've seen a lot in fanfiction...

-.-.-.-.-

"Bi."

Keira blinked behind her welding mask and paused. She turned just slightly in her seat and flipped the face-guard upwards to raise an eyebrow at the man behind her. "Wha?"

"Bisexual."

Again she blinked. "As in…"

"As in being attracted to both genders."

Keira stared at Jak for a moment. For the third time, she blinked at him. Obviously she couldn't believe it.

"Hey," Jak said, pointing at her accusingly for not trusting him from where he sat straddling one of her work chairs from behind, his elbow resting on its back. "Its true."

Samos' daughter kept her unconvinced expression where it was as she turned to stare out the open doors to her garage. Outside, in the alley, Daxter leaned against the Stadium wall waiting for Jak to leave and flirting with every woman that passed as he did so.

He seemed heterosexual enough. Maybe a little more than…

Keira blinked for a forth, final time, then turned back to Jak. She shook her head.

"No way."


	9. Eat Something

**Title: **Eat Something  
**Summary: **Torn's unhealthily skinny. We should fix that...  
**POV: **None (at least consistently)  
**Rating: **PG

A/n: Finally, a new addition! And its FUNNY. Kinda. Maybe, I donno, its supposed to be. _Anyways_, this one goes out to Nashi's Kid sister, cuz she rocks for many a reason.

-.-.-.-.-

"We're old friends."

Both Jak and Daxter nodded in understanding. It would explain why the blonde seemed slightly closer to their oh-so friendly rebel leader than most. Funny, though. One would think people like Tess and Torn would clash too much to get along.

"So, how far back do you two go?" Daxter asked, eager to learn more about his sweety-pie. Oh, and maybe get some blackmail on the ex-commander. That would always be a plus. "We talking diapers?"

"About!" Tess grinned, obviously fond of this subject. "We grew up on the same street. After that, we just kept bumping into each other."

"And as he always been…" Jak trailed off, bringing his hands up parallel to one another with a little gap of air between.

"Built like a freakin' twig?" Daxter finished, translating.

To both boys' surprise, Tess shook her head. Her expression had saddened slightly. "Nope. He used to look lots healthier. He just hasn't been eating properly."

Jak and Daxter exchanged glances.

-.-.-.-.-

Contrary to popular belief, Torn did sleep. It was about as regular as every new moon, but he _did_ sleep. It was never for long--maybe two to three hours at a time--and the hero and his furry companion and learned that after awaking, the brunette could be even more of a prune than usual.

It was coming back from the Hip Hog that they found Torn in such a state.

Risking his very life, Daxter jumped from Jak's shoulder to prod the ex-commander in the shoulder. After dodging the reflexive swat that had trigged, it became apparent Torn was, in fact, quite dead to the world. "Jeez," the fur-ball muttered. "He's out cold."

"We'll just come back later then," stated Jak. He held out his arm for his friend to scamper back up but, to his surprise, Dax stayed where he was on the cot.

"Hold on." Daxter turned and grinned up at Jak, the expression implying some malicious intent. "I wanna do something first."

-.-.-.-.-

Torn blinked down at his desk.

A couple minutes ago, he'd finished with his weekly nap. He'd gotten up, stretched, listened to his joints pop and cursed--his usual waking routine. This, however, was _not_ usual.

Taped over his map of the stadium district was a piece of paper. On this paper, in horrible, scribbly handwriting was a very idiotic message.

"Dear Torn,

Eat something.

-The Underground"

And there was much face palming.


	10. Good Ol' Jak

**Title: **Good Ol' Jak

**Summary: **Dax just loves him some whack-a-Metal Head. But something's up, and it's bad enough to where he can't even tell Jak.

**POV: **Tess (omg)

**Rating: **T for Teen or PG13 for only TWO F-bombs

A/n: Oh god, it's a blast from the past today. This is a revamped version of my FIRST EVER JAK FIC. EVER. EEEEVEEEEEEEEEEER. That's how first it is. I mean, I hadn't even played the games when I wrote it. Most of it at CHURCH no less. Being where I wrote it. That is. Yeah. Have fun!

-.-.-.-.-

He was at it again.

No surprise there.

Ever since he had figured out how to work that game, he had become addicted to it; a little, furry orange moth drawn to a Metal Head bashing flame.

It was utterly adorable.

When it had first began, she was always right by his side to cheer him on with cries of "Go Daxxie!" and "My hero!" Of course, he was prone to hit at least a few of the rigged MHs, but her arms were ready and waiting for him to fall back into. Then he'd steady himself, turn and give her a flirtatious wink with that grin that ripped his head in two before jumping right back into the fray. She'd giggle in response and, somewhere behind her, Jak would crack a rare smile.

Lately, however, her attention seemed needed less and less as he got more and more wrapped up in the game. She'd still rush to his aid should something go wrong, like the time he had gotten so worked up, he ended up actually falling into one of the many holes. Somehow, his tail got caught on the gears inside and it'd taken the combined strength of both her and Jak to free her snook'ems.

But, other than that, it just seemed better if she let him be and concentrated on her own work.

Which she happened to be doing now.

Absently humming a tuneless song to herself, she gave the bar in front of her another wipe down with the rag she held.

Mar, when was the last time she had hummed? It seemed like a life time ago. Hell, up until that fur-ball of an ottsel opened his greasy, flirtatious trap, she hadn't thought of even _smiling_ except when it was out-right expected of her. Now she couldn't stop.

Daxter lit up her life, end of story. He made her laugh—giggle—which while the action used to be a natural one once upon a time, as of late, it'd become hard to even force.

Thank you, ex-Baron Asshole. May you rest in pieces.

She was thankful for him—her furry baby, not Praxis—for making her feel this alive again. He had that affect on everyone's lives, she guessed, making each a little more upbeat, although she knew most wouldn't admit it. He could even make Jak of all people chuckle, a feat nigh impossible for anyone else by her knowledge. But he was just that funny! Such sarcastic, witty humor came to him so naturally, she was sure he didn't even have to try.

Daxter was so different from his partner.

She looked up from the counter and to the booth in which the blonde in question lay sleeping. Jak and Daxter sure were an odd pair. Jak was quiet and distant with an uncaring air to him. Everything Daxter wasn't. Sure, she'd seen Jak smile on occasion, even heard him laugh, but he still seemed to fit more the description the world had tagged on him; an outlaw. Why, then, was someone like Daxter with someone like Jak? It didn't seem to fit up, the two of them. Yet, there they stood, inseparable. Just two best friends.

She'd always just chocked it up to 'opposites attract'…

Shaking the thoughts from her mind, Tess turned and wrung out the dish towel into the bucket by her feet. It wasn't any of her business, anyways. Friends were friends. That's all there was to it.

"_YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAOOOOOUCH!_"

"Oh no!" she cried, instantly abandoning the cloth to run to her baby's aid, nearly kicking over the bucket in the process. "Daxter!"

"I'm—I'm good," he called weakly, waving her concern off with his little gloved paw as she rushed to his side. "J—just a lit—lil' shock, is all." The ottsel swooned a bit. "I'll b—be perfect…perfectly fine, cupcake. No n—need to worry that…pretty lil' 'ead ah yers 'bout m—me." Despite the situation, she couldn't help the soft laugh that bubbled up at the pet name as he fell back into her open arms, his fur slightly singed and sticking on end.

"Maybe you should take it easy," she suggested, turning him around and holding him out at arms length to give the damage a once over. A few burnt patches but thankfully no blood. Despite what the smoking tail had led her to believe, he was pretty well off this time. "You've been going pretty hard on those poor Metal Heads lately." She cocked her head slightly to the side. "Something's not bothering you, is it, baby?"

"No," came the far too quick reply.

"Daxxie," she said as her face fell into an unimpressed pout. "I hope you're not lying to me." The little animal squirmed under her gaze. "C'mon," the blonde nearly pleaded. "You know you can trust me." He looked up at her for a moment, unsure. Then…

"Okay," he said quietly, then hastily added, "but not in here."

"Why?" she asked, imitating his hushed tone as she set him back down on the game platform. He opened his mouth to explain, paused in thought, closed it and jerked his furry little head in the direction of the sleeping outlaw.

Okay, so it had something to do with Jak, or possibly something Dax didn't want the blonde to wake up and hear. Either way, this new development left her unsure of whether she really wanted to know what was going on. If Daxter didn't feel comfortable telling this to Jak, his best friend, but felt the need to spill it to _her_, well, something couldn't be right. Not in the least.

But she couldn't turn her Daxxie away, especially not with him giving her those heart-broken, crocapup eyes. And she wasn't one to let her friends down. You don't find many in Haven City to begin with. She'd hear him out, if only for his sake.

"Okay," she whispered, picking him up again. "We can talk in the back."

He looked so relieved as she carried him into the dirty little kitchen back behind the bar, she couldn't help by smile, already feeling this was worth it. After setting him gently onto the table near the corner, she wandered to the cupboard and removed a pair of mugs for the two of them. "You thirsty?" she asked, showing him the mug she had intended for him. She shot him a suggestive grin. "Maybe some of your Purple Stuff?" His ears instantly perked up.

"Oh, yes, ma'am!" he crowed, jumping to his feet. She laughed to herself in response. A moment later, both jugs were filled to the brim with the thick purple liquid, each with their own straw poking out.

"Here." She set the jug down in front of him and pulled up a chair for herself. The ottsel ran his coarse tongue across his lips before gripping each side of the mug and, ignoring the straw completely, lifted it over his head to chug. Again she laughed, watching as some of the liquor dripped from the corners of his mouth and down the front of his fuzzy chest. When he'd finished half his drink, he slammed down the mug, wiped his mouth and his front, and sighed contently.

And…Tess waited. She played idly with her own straw and patiently waited for him to start this little 'heart-to-heart' of theirs. Only…he didn't. He fidgeted and shifted his weight from one hip and back again and said nothing.

So he needed a little help. Tess knew that game. She'd only known Tornie for _how_ long? Some people just needed a push or two, and she was pretty good at that.

"What's on your mind, Daxxie?" she asked simply, testing the waters.

And just like that the flood gates opened.

"I'm…I'm kinda…" He swallowed and started again. "I'm—I'm _scared_'a Jak."

…that was _not _what she was expecting to hear.

"I can't…well, _lie_ t'myself anymore," he continued and started wringing his paws in a nervous fashion she'd never seen him use. "That—that I'm just scared _for_ 'im, yah know? Precursors know I am, but…I'm also scared _of_ 'im, too." He nodded to himself. "Cuz I'm that too and…and dammit, that just ain't _right_."

"I'm…ah, sure that Jak can be a very scary guy sometimes, Dax," she said, trying to sound reassuring when really she was just grasping for something to say at all. This _was_ where she was supposed to reassure him, right? She placed a thin hand on both of the rodent's paws. "It's okay, really. People…people say he can get pretty…brutal."

Of course, she said the same thing, if asked. She'd seen that demon thing he turned into, once. Saw how he used to take Krew's dirty jobs on top of suicide missions for Torn without breaking a sweat. He wasn't a normal person. She didn't even know if he was really an elf sometimes…

"Oh, believe me," Dax said quickly, "they weren't lyin'. Yah get him pissed and…holy shit." Dropping off, he ran his paw over his head, taking off his goggles and then running the other hand through the fur of his scalp. Then he scrunched his eyes shut and threw the goggles to the table. "But this is _Jak_, here! _Jak_! It's…it just…seems so _wrong_."

"How is it so wrong?" she asked. Mar, it made her feel dumb asking such a simple question but…that just didn't make sense to her. At all.

"Things…things were—use'ta be _a lot_ different," he replied slowly. "Before." He said the word like it made everything make perfect sense. It probably did to him. With a sigh, he slumped onto the table, eyes on his paws in his lap.

"…Before what?" Tess pushed. He looked up to her and after a moment, his mouth turned up in a small, amused grin. Like it was a funny question. Not dumb, just funny. Ironic.

"_Everything_," was his response. It was the same end-all, be-all tone as before, but this time he continued. "See, we don't come from 'round here. Use'ta be we lived in this lil' tiny town near the sea where nothin' ever happened. Just me, Jak, Keira, that ol' bag yah call Shadow, and, like, _five_ other people." A half-hearted chuckle rose from his throat as the nostalgia practically glowed in little, beady eyes. "Back then…back then it was just me 'n Jak, all the way. And…" The grin widened a bit and he met her eyes again. "And I wasn't this," he motioned up and down himself, "which pro'lly made things lots easier."

Tess blinked at that. "What were you?" she asked, voice quiet with confusion.

His grin cracked wide and he flashed her some pearly fangs.

"All man, baby," he replied. The animal then hoped to his feet and busted out a body-builder pose, suddenly back to being the class clown. Like the original topic was suddenly just another one of his jokes. She giggled.

"Oh yeah, a total babe magnet, lean and handsome. Cream a'the crop, I was." Daxter broke his silly stance to sweep wide with one arm. "Blew Jak right outta t'freakin' water!" Then he paused and straightened to lean on his glass. "A'course, I only knew, like, two girls back then. One was mah own _mother_, so _obviously_ she wasn't on t'possible squeeze list, and the other was _Keira_ and—I'unno, she was mental or something and we both know who she picked between the two of us…But!" he threw his hands into the air. "That just means my seductive powers over th'female persuasion were just put to waste, right?" Tess nodded, giggling again.

Mar, did she love his sense of humor!

"But," Daxter sighed, "_then_ I had t'go and fall in a vat a'the purple death, and BOOM!" His paws flew out and Tess couldn't help but jump. "Insta'Ottsel.

"Ah, but those were t'good ol' days. Just me 'n Jak, getting' inta trouble 'n pissin' off Samos 'n Jak's uncle 'n…well, 'bout everyone else. It was great!"

Just when Tess started to smile again, his eyes hardened. He drew in a long breath and let it back out slow. "Jak…Jak was a lot different way back when. I mean a _lot_. Fer one, he didn't talk. At all. I mean, yah think he's quiet now, yah shoulda seen him when he was in devoted mute-mode." He paused to work his mouth a bit, like he didn't know where to go from after that. He just stood there, lazily propped on his drink, staring down in front of him. Then a small, homesick sort of smile broke through and he kept going. "Yah know, lookin' back, 'e…really never needed tah. Talk, I mean. A'course," he looked up again, nodding a bit to his audience, "he had me. _I _was loud a'nuff for t'both of us and some over, right?" Tess let out her obligated laugh before nodding.

"He also had this…" Daxter reached out with both arms and flexed his paws. Grabbed for what he was trying to say. "This…_way_ of speakin' without words. Like…like with 'is body and stuff. I mean, his _eyes_ talked, mainly. And…" The ottsel's stature straightened a bit. Pride began leaking into his words. "I always knew what he was tryin' t'say. _Always_.

"He…smiled a lot more then, too. It used to be I never…_never_ thought I'd see him without that caring, goofy smile a'his…" He plopped back down onto the table and started to trace the pattern printed on it to imitate wood. The pride was gone now, from his voice and his face. Now he just sounded sad. "I dunno who t'thank for him smilin' now. I mean…I don't think _I'd_ smile after…after going through all that _shit_ they put him through…" The anger was strong at the end of that. Maybe more like hate.

Tess bit her lip. She didn't know if she should, but…

"What…what happened to him?"

Daxter looked up at her then, almost like he'd forgotten she was there. He looked at her for a long moment, searching her for anything that might stop him from continuing. Wondering if he should. The silence eventually passed and he sighed.

"Alright, yah know…yah know Dark Eco?" he asked slowly. Seriously. It was how serious his tone was that made her hesitate before nodding. There was another pause as he swallowed. Put off for another second or two having to go on.

"For…" he began to fidget, picking at his claws. "For…_two years_…Praxis tortured him. Pumped him…_right up_ t'his pointy ears with the stuff."

He said it quiet, but it felt like a Zoomer to the chest. Her hand shot to her mouth.

Dark Eco was suicide to mess with. Everyone knew that. It'd eat your skin away if you just got one drop on you so…

To have it pumped _into_ you…

Dax kept going, reading her mind. "I can't believe he made it either." A dry laugh forced its way up and out of his throat and the harshness of it surprised her. "But that's Jak, right? Good ol' Jak." His voice cracked. He covered his eyes with a paw. "I searched that _stupid_ prison up and down for almost a _year_ before I found him. Turned it upside-down and _shook_." Another pause and another rough swallow, trying to get a hold of himself just enough to keep talking without…something she really didn't want to think about him doing. "He was mess. A fuckin' mess. All bloody and—and…they were beatin' him up and all I was stuck in some vent and couldn't do _nothin'_ and—and if they hadn't used his _name_, I woulda never even recognized him! Can you believe that?" He shook his head "I couldn't even recognize my best friend, that's how messed up…

"It took another half a year to figure out how the hell I'd break him out. Oh, hell." His voice broke again as he shook his head violently. Angrily. "Who am I kiddin'? If—if Praxis hadn't—hadn't ordered 'im _dead_ right in front a'me, 'e'd pro'lly still be in there _now._" Daxter buried his head in his hands.

Tess watched, feeling helpless. She hadn't known. Mar, she shouldn't have _asked_.

"Yah know what the first thing 'e said t'me was?"

His voice jolted her back out of her thoughts.

"What?" she asked before she could stop to wonder if she should.

Daxter didn't seem to mind. He flashed a quick, lifeless smile and quoted slowly, "'I'm gonna kill Praxis'." A shake of the head. "First time I ever, _ever_ heard 'im speak and it was 'I'm gonna _kill_ Praxis'." Another shake and he waved a paw, dismissing his own statement. "Okay, in his defense, he was _really_ outta it. Really. I mean, if…if someone did all the _crap_ t'me? Hell, I'd be swearing a blue streak for months t'anyone would listen 'n insultin' the guy's _mother_ and…and I'm not even sure he knew it was _me_, so…

"But Jak…Jak's just ain't that type a'guy. Well, didn't use'ta be. Sure, he'd kill t'save the world. Did that. But never for…for himself. Jak…never did anythin' for himself. Ever, let alone…"

Suddenly he looked back up at her, searching for something. Reassurance, agreement, understanding, _something_, but she didn't know what it was so she just stared back. He went on anyways, looking her dead in the eye. "It just shocked me, yah know? Fer two years I…" The gaze broke and he looked back down at his paws, " I had these two scenes worked out in mah head. How I'd break him out. _One_ involved me smackin' guards silly and Blondie kissin' mah furry lil' feet fer savin' his sorry ass. Which," he let out a short bark of a laugh, "let's face it, was per-_itty_ dumb. Never gonna happen in this life-time, right?

"But the other one…" Daxter stopped a second to smile to himself. "It didn't involve any guards or shit like that. I'd just break into 'is cell, don't ask me _how_, and…'e'd just be there. All normal. All fine and happy and goofy and…_himself_ and—and 'e'd look up at me, bit surprised, then crack into that 'Don't-worry-I'll-fix-everything-now-so-quit-yer-shedding-buddy' smile. And say my name fer the first time." Again, he waved his paw around his head as if to get rid of the idea. "I dunno what I was on when I thought _that_ one up—cuz like _that'd_ ever happen. But…

"I was…somewhere under that _stupid _rack they kept him on when Praxis gave the order t'get rid of him," he continued, like he couldn't stop himself. "I couldn't—I couldn't take it." Anger rose to the surface and he balled his paws into fists, "thinkin' a'losing him fer good, so I made my way up t'him. No plan, no nothin' 'cept some street clothes I was keepin' fer him, but…I _had _t'get him out.

"He was a total wreck. Whatever science-y crap that pulled on him messed 'im up 'n good. I…I dunno, I didn't know what t'do so I just talked to him like nothin' was wrong. Like maybe he'd recognize my voice and come-to or _something_." Tess couldn't tell if that was a wince or if he just closed his eyes. "Well, I got his attention, that's fer sure. Jumped a'freakin' mile when he barked out he'd murder Praxis—WHO, I might add, is a big, fat, _stupid_ dumb-ass." The switch from remorse to anger was so quick, the blonde listening couldn't help but blink. Dax was practically seething.

"He was plannin' to off Jak cuz he thought his lil' experiment didn't work. Ha, yeah right. It worked. _Way_ too fuckin' well if you ask me. I got a face full'a it after all!" Suddenly, his arms shot out and waved wildly around. "They turned Jak into a monster! And he was 'bout ready to tear me t'shreds, too." The paws dropped and he shook his head. "But 'e remembered me. Just in time. Good ol' Jak remembered me…

"An' fer what?" The question was harsh and quiet. "I mean, _I_," he motioned to himself, puffing his chest out in mock-pride, "put 'im there, right? I bolted on 'im, but…does he blame me fer it?" Dax shook his head. "Nope, never Jak.

"…I'm the one he shoulda vowed t'kill."

"Don't say that!" she blurted out. "You went back to save him, didn't you? And you two are best friends! Jak wouldn't hold that against you."

"'Zactly," he snapped back. "Jak wouldn't, but 'e _should_. He should _hate me_, cuz I up and left 'im to die after…after _everything_.

"And that's why I'm scared a'him." He punctuated the sentence with an accusing finger to the floor. "I'm scared that—that now that Praxis is six feet under, that…_crazy_, messed-up side of 'im that stupid bitch made is gonna turn on _me_ cuz he's gonna finally realize it was _all my fault_." His arms shot to the side. "And I'm scared! It's…selfish and—and wrong of me, but I just can't shake it! I should…tell him or—or _something_ 'n Precursors know I wanna, its just…

"What if he _hates _me?" he whispered. "Sure, he _should_, but…I don't wan'im to! He's…

"I love 'im too much, Tess. I love 'im as much as a friend can and…_God_, look what I put 'im through…"

She'd never heard him use her name so seriously before. It was…weird. Wrong. Daxter shouldn't talk that way. Daxter was never _serious_. He shouldn't have to be. Obviously, he didn't want to be, if he'd bottled that all up for this long…

Tess opened her mouth, wondering what to say. What _could_ she say that wouldn't sound stupid and forced and…well, what do you _say_ to something like that? That things would be alright?

Well, not in Haven. Even if it was getting peaceful, it just wasn't that kind of city.

That she was always here for him?

Maybe, but it still felt wrong to say. Felt wrong to promise. She didn't know what it was about him, but she could kind of feel that Dax and his friend were meant for greater things and that they'd be above and beyond her. Hell, it was obvious when they single-handedly defeated Kor. She just wouldn't always be there.

Jak would, though, and that much was obvious.

Tess closed her mouth and just wrapped her arms around the small animal in front of her, pulling him into a comforting hug. He seemed a bit taken back by the sudden close contact, even if it was something they were used to doing with one another—and as usual, she couldn't tell that he was blushing under all that crazy orange fur—but he slowly circled his own scrawny arms around her neck and hugged back.

"He wouldn't hate you," she whispered softly after a moment of simply running a hand up and down his long back. "I don't think he could. I think…I _know_ he cares about you too much to," She held him a little tighter. "He _needs_ you, Dax. So there's no need to worry."

He sniffed against her ear. "Really?" he asked, obviously needing the reassurance. "Ya—yah think?"

Tess smiled, nodding. "I can tell."

They stood still, holding one another while that sunk in for him. He shifted slightly, resting his head on her shoulder. Then, "Maybe…maybe yer right, sugar," he said, whipping out another flirty nick-name. It didn't go unnoticed. "I can't let this get me down, right?" He pulled away just enough to smile up at her. "If Golden Boy needs me t'be good ol' Daxter like 'e remembers, then dammit, that's what I'll be."

"That's the spirit," she said with a smile. "You can do it, Daxter. I know you can."

"Damn right, I can," he replied and that normal, cocky grin was plastered right back where it should be.

Then he broke the hug and changed the topic. Just like that, like they'd been talking about something trivial like the weather. Suddenly he was his old self again, all animated and hyper as he explained what new additions he wanted to make to the bar now that he 'owned' it. What needed to go. What had to be down-right _burned_ out front and then thrown into the Bay.

And Tess just rolled with it, like the rest of it never even happened, because she knew that's how Daxter wanted it. He didn't have to tell her it was confidential for her to keep her lips shut. It wouldn't leave the room, even if she'd never be able to look at Jak the same again.

Even if she'd always look at him and picture the Jak Daxter described in a conversation that never existed.

He was on his second glass of Purple Stuff when she insisted they call it a night. Of course there was some whining, but with a wink and a nudge she'd convinced him to climb into her arms before walking out into the front room. She was actually planning on carrying him up to the loft she'd taken after Krew died once she'd flipped off the lights, but he had other plans. He began to squirm. After a bit of a fuss, she dropped him. The ottsel landed on all fours and proceeded to scamper over to his partner, still out like a light in his little booth.

And, truthfully? She wasn't at all surprised.

After Daxter snuggled into Jak's chest, the antihero reflexively wrapped a protective arm around him. As it tightened a little, the rodent let out a soft sigh.

Tess had to cover her mouth to ensure she didn't make a sound.

They just looked so _adorable_ together, though. Just the best friends they always seemed to be.

And were.

And are.

That's where Dax was meant to be, after all. Right next to good ol' Jak when he needed him…

With a shake of her head, the blonde turned back around to take the stairs to her bedroom. She was gone by the time Daxter whispered, "Thanks, Tess," to himself, just loud enough for only him to hear.

"For everything."


	11. Left Unsaid

**Title: **Left Unsaid  
**Summary: **It still stings, but it's livable.  
**Point of View: **Jak  
**Rated: **PG

A/n: WOW, haven't touched this in a while. Actually haven't WRITTEN in a while. Warning you now, this is very drably and unbetaed. Please enjoy regardless.

.-.-.-.-.-.

It still stings, when he mentions it.

Everything stings. Everything's _pain_ in this life. _Everything_. Nothing's sacred, not even from himself.

He keeps bringing it up, though. Jak doesn't show it—he'd never _show it_, _it's against the new rules_—but he probably knows it hurts. Poking an old wound always does. Especially _that_ one…

"Where would you be without me, Dax?"

Shouldn't've asked it. Idiot, idiot.

He'd be fine without you. Perfectly, _wholly _fine. He'd be _normal_ without you. In_dependent_ without you. Could've made a life for himself like—like everyone _else_ without _you._

_Stupid question. Painful answer. It's __**all your fault**_**.**

…but then again, you've gotta realize, it's an old wound. Old and scarred over and just sore, really. Just tender. It doesn't scream like everything else. It's not _painful_. Not _horrible_. It hurts, but compared to the rest? Hell, it's a paper-cut.

Talking about ancient history's not all that bad, not when the present's such a nightmare. There's so much he could bring up—tell Jak he doesn't agree with. His actions, his _re_actions, the _Dark_ that _crawls out and kills and could turn on him __**at any given moment and **_still he talks to him like…everything's…_normal_.

…maybe that's why he brings it up. Is he still living in the past? Clinging to it?

Makes two of them.

The realization dulls the sting. It's livable.

…but there's a question. Always nagging, _always there_. He's _gotta_ be aware of what he's doing. How he's helping him. What's not being said for the sake of what _is_. He's just gotta know.

…So…what's being left unsaid, Dax? Not that it can't be guessed…


End file.
